


Hot Heavy Summer

by AnansiAnansi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (Obviously), Angst with a Happy Ending, Clexa Endgame, Clexa Week 2021, Day 1, Day 2 Wanna Bet, Eventual Smut, F/F, Internalised Homophobia, accidental love confession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29785929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnansiAnansi/pseuds/AnansiAnansi
Summary: By all accounts, Clarke Griffin, Hollywood's most bankable superstar, has made it. Except a decision, and a sacrifice to get there has haunted her for years.------------------------------------------------------------------------------For Clexaweek 2021. This is a three chapter fic, matching up to the first three days/prompts.UPDATE (March 2, 2021): This is now a SEVEN part fic (whoops), using the prompts from all days of Clexaweek 2021 (also, the rating's changed). Decided to stretch out the arc of the angst a little bit more (to those of you who suffered through that angst inLove Lockdown, apologies in advance. :D) This also means byebye for now to all the other Clexaweek 2021 works I had planned; maybe we can dust them off for future Clexa festivities.What can I say, the muses are whimsical, or I'm just fickle. So it goes.Day 1 - Accidental Love ConfessionDay 2 - Wanna Bet?
Relationships: Anya/Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 46
Kudos: 131
Collections: Clexaweek2021





	1. Accidental Love Confession

It wasn’t anything like the sun; her agent had been so wrong about that. She was unfailingly irritated by that thought every single time she stepped out of the temporal quietude of her chauffeured car; these days that was the only solitude she got. But no, the incessant, incandescent flashes of the bulbs by the dozens, sometimes hundreds, before her were nothing like the brilliant, warm luminescence of sunshine; most of all, they couldn’t do a damn thing to either replicate or erase the memories of all those thieving touches, of kisses pilfered amidst darting, surreptitious glances over tanned shoulders, of love made hot and fast and slow and faltering, of hearts broken under the piercing rays of that same sun. These were just fake luminaries lighting up the gilded sham of her life now in all its jaded, empty, heartless glory. 

Sighing, Clarke stepped out the car, slipping on her oversized dark glasses; this was going to be a tough one, and she would cut herself the momentary slack she needed and pull a ‘Jack’ instead of the usual tricks to gaze unblinkingly into the black hole of the camera lens, while its flash exploded mercilessly in her face.

“Clarke! Over here!” 

“To your left!”

“Can I get that killer wattage, please?”

Stretching her lips into a familiar expression more out of muscle memory than any sincerity, she bore out a few minutes with resoluteness as best she could.

“Clarke, are you ready to start dating again?”

“Who’s the heartbreaker, Clarke, c’mon, give us a hint!”

She inhaled sharply; the countless, callous variations of that last question still carved little cuts into her; in the last twenty seven months, she had mostly learnt to block them out, and lick her wounds in a rare moment of respite when she could find it. Today, though, they stung like a slap in the face out in subhuman cold. She couldn’t do this; not right now.

Thankfully, she felt a gentle nudge at her elbow. “It’s time.” Her bodyguard leaned in, his massive frame breaking the spell of the lights, a welcome eclipse to slip out under the cover of, like the fucking _coward_ she was.

Taking a deep breath, she forced one foot ahead of another, trying to remember her therapist’s now trite pleadings to _just be kinder to yourself. You made a mistake, Clarke, a big one, but if there’s no fixing it, you have to let go if you’re ever going to heal from it. What’s it going to take to forgive yourself?_

She knew exactly what it would take. One chance and a minute to undo everything and start at the beginning of time itself, if that’s what it took. If wishes were horses, she’d be racing backwards to Lexa on Pegasus himself, without a thought or care for reason or consequence.

*******

_Clarkey, how are you holding up?_

Clarke felt the phone buzz beside her thigh in the plush armchair as she stared straight ahead, the makeup artist dusting powders against her nose, chin, rubbing hints of gold into her eyelids and cheekbones. “You need to hydrate.” The woman murmured, nonchalantly. “Your skin is parched.”

Yes, well, and your roots are showing, Clarke wanted to snap back, but she held her tongue. Melinda the Makeup Artist was right; she _had_ just imbibed the equivalent of a small distillery in the past couple of days since….

“All done.” 

“Thanks, Melinda.” Clarke tried out her latest brittle beam; this one actually managed to reach her eyes sometimes.

“Belinda.” The woman eyed her for a moment, wiping the remnants of makeup on her apron before slipping the brush back into the holder strapped around her waist. “It happens all the time. You take care of yourself, honey.”

Clarke sighed, sinking back into her chair. Great, now she was becoming one of _those_ celebrities. Throughout her career so far, she had prided herself on remembering names, stories, the people behind the machine that had made her its triumphant face. How far the mighty were cascading. She picked up her phone.

_Hey, Ray. All good. Just getting primed and polished. How’s the watch party coming?_

In response, Raven sent her a picture of her living room; on the couch were Bellamy, Echo, Octavia and Lincoln, squeezed so tightly their shoulders touched; on the floor spilled over were Murphy, Emori, Miller, Jackson, Harper and Monty, sitting on cushions. Raven’s long coffee table was similarly overflowing with snacks and booze. Clarke rested her thumb on the photo, watching it come to life. Ten arms raised shot glasses in the air, lips spouting the same battle cry. “Cheers, Clarke!”

Clarke grinned in spite of herself; she hadn’t seen some of them in years, but they were all still the same; if she squinted, the Crew could have been gathering to watch a football game, just like old times. Except with a couple of crucial missing components, of course. 

Typing off her thanks, she sent them a quick selfie with a thumbs up. _Game face on!_

She checked the old watch on her wrist, aiding time’s steady march forward, but abetting her attempts to dial it back; in her darkest moments, she could have sworn it ticked in reverse sometimes, a grateful ally to her fervent attempts at wishful thinking.

A nervous-looking young man came up to her, framing her with a light meter, drawing invisible arcs as if to encase her in a bubble. She sighed, adjusting the front of her dress; entertainers really did get paid to wait around a lot. Though to be fair, it was she who had chosen to watch the set up, preferring the buzz of activity on set to the loneliness of the dressing room; there was no escaping her thoughts in there.

“Almost done, Miss Griffin.” He whispered shyly. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Can I get you anything?”

She smiled at him, gratefully. “A double gin and tonic, please and thanks….Aden.” She’d glanced down at his jacket just in time. “No ice, please.”

He seemed taken aback. “S-sure, no problem, Miss Griffin. Be right back.”

She smiled wryly; it was cocktail hour somewhere in the world where this was being broadcast, right? And frankly, she didn’t give a shit anymore.

********

“That’s your third one. Working hard on forgetting, are we?”

Clarke raised her eyes from watching the ice coalesce with the colourless fluid to precisely the same face she had been avoiding all evening. She said nothing, because nothing she was prepared to say would have made the slightest difference. 

“You’re avoiding me.” Lexa slid in beside her at the bar, their bare arms grazing only slightly, but the movement being enough to make Clarke catch her breath before it ran clean away with the rest of her head. 

Lexa motioned to the bartender. “Double scotch please, no ice. Smoky.”

“I’m not the only one, apparently.” 

“With the avoidance or the forgetting?”

“Both.”

They sat side by side in silence for a few minutes, the strains of music and laughter from the dance floor wafting in through the closed doors of the ballroom at the far end. Here, sheltered, each was forced to contend with the other, wilder storms raging; the ones they had spent a summer dragging each other to, and from. Those that just weren’t the quietening kind, or at least, not the sort that just faded away eventually.

“That smile.” Lexa mused after a sip, feeling the slow burn travelling through the quagmire of unsaid things that had been choking her, slower than the dust and the sunshine and the unpredictable rejections of her summer lover.

“Hmm?”

“O’s smile; when Raven was telling the story of how Linc finally worked up the guts to tell her how he felt.” Lexa’s wistful one cut through both the gilded air and Clarke with the same exacting precision.

“Hmm.” Clarke looked anywhere but at Lexa, fighting herself more than a little, and hating herself more than a lot for it. “I feel like there’s a message in there for me.” When she did make eye contact, she knew it was here. The inevitable, inescapable end stood before her, perhaps reckless, most certainly ruthless, and uncompromisingly messy. 

She licked her lips, not being able stop staring at Lexa’s. “Not here.” 

Lexa bit the corner of her own bottom one before shaking her head. “Of course not.” She turned to the bartender, asking for their drinks to be put on her room tab, busying herself with unnecessarily calculating a tip and then putting down twice the amount before strolling out without a backwards glance, following Clarke upstairs. Her heart thumping, she pushed the door to her room open, not sure which Clarke would greet her, not knowing whether to cover up, or to lay her heart bare.

Clarke stood by the far window watching the dark and the light of the cityscape, arms crossed before her, pensive and stiff. At least her shoes were off, Lexa noted wryly as she sat down on the edge of her bed, using her toes to slip out of her own, first the one, then the other. She waited, sitting upright, running a hand through her hair, massaging her scalp lightly. There were only two ways this was going to go, and with each option, it seemed like one of them would inevitably end up the loser. So, what was the rush when it came to cutting each other up, anyway?

Clarke turned and walked towards her, stopping until they were inches apart. Lexa raised her head, her face a study in stoic imperturbability. But her eyes, her eyes. Those were what Clarke would remember as the things that broke her that night, and they would haunt her relentlessly for the years that followed. As she watched, a single tear rolled down Lexa’s cheek, carrying with it the weight of the guilt settling like a vast, dark cloak on Clarke’s shoulders. Clarke wiped it away, letting her fingers rest lightly on the jaw she had memorized in countless kisses over the past four months. “Don’t cry, Lex. It doesn’t have to be this heavy.”

She might as well have slapped her; Lexa sprang up then, away from her touch, and began pacing across the room. Coiled tightly around her agitation, vibrating with the intensity of her feelings, she was at once thievery and solace. Without realizing it, Clarke raised a hand to her own heart, gently rubbing at the deep ache that was starting to take up more space with each passing second. When she spoke again, the tremor in her voice didn’t surprise her. “We can….we can still see each other. This shoot is only for a couple of months. I’ll get some time after that.” She paused, trying to phrase the next words with care. “If we’re careful, I can even come to you.”

Lexa stopped short at that, her eyes flashing. “And what exactly does ‘careful’ mean? We hide away in your rented penthouse, or you pretend I don’t exist?”

Clarke couldn’t tell what hurt more; the truth of Lexa’s words, or the disdainful curve of her fingers around the air-quoted word. She sighed. “I _never_ pretended, Lexa.” She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “I can’t, with _you_. I just can’t be out. Not right now.” She threw her hands up in defeat. “You know, the demographics….”

“....The misogynistic, homophobic niche of moviegoers with the purchasing power to _make you_ , yes I’ve heard _that_ excuse before, Clarke.” Lexa stood before her now, wild eyed, biting down hard on her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“Or _break_ me.” Clarke finished, running a hand across her eyes; she was so tired. “Even a whiff, a scent of scandal, and I’m done, Lexa. My career will never, ever recover from it.”

“And what makes you think _we_ will?” Lexa asked, her voice shaking with emotion.

“Because we’re _us_.” Clarke’s own eyes filled with tears. “Maybe someday, someday sooner than you think, I won’t owe anything more to anyone _._ ” She waved a hand resignedly around the room, not quite mustering up the conviction she was trying so desperately to impart.

Lexa actually snorted, a strange, tight smile spreading on her face. “Will you want to be with me, then? Like really, truly be with me without giving a shit about what anyone thinks?”

In hindsight, after the countless times she had run the scene through her head, this was it, the moment that could have changed it all, the one that had cleaved her heart and happiness clean into two, separate, unmeeting paths. “Don’t ask me that, Lexa. You know I won’t make a promise I can’t keep.” She watched the blood drain from Lexa’s stunning face, hating herself for dulling the light in the eyes she adored with every inch of her being. Maybe there was a way forward, a compromise; it didn’t have to be such a hard _either or_ , did it? “What if we agreed to keep things light, for now? And maybe, when things calm down a bit after my next two releases, we can test out the waters some?” 

Lexa’s smile was bitter now. She shook her head resignedly. “I don’t want _light_ , Clarke. And I don’t want to poke a toe into the water.” She laughed, the usual music in the sound serrated by the sadness underneath. “I want to strip down to nothing and take a running leap off the highest cliff into this. I want to be lost underwater and nearly drown in it. In us. And then come up for air and do it all over again. And again. Forever.” Her voice was pleading now. “Don’t you get it?”

Heart thumping loud enough to drown out the sound of her own voice, Clarke dared herself to go on. “What do you _want_ , Lex?”

Fists clenched by her side, chest heaving, Lexa blurted out the words before she could stop herself. “I want to marry you, Clarke.” 

Then, realizing what she had said, she stiffened into silence, the shock of her confession radiating through her entire body, her eyes searching Clarke’s face frantically for what was to come next. Clarke only stared at Lexa, waging a war inside herself, feeling the sheer happiness quickly become engulfed by pure, unadulterated _fear._ She felt the words, spoken in a voice she didn’t recognize, fall from her lips before she heard them. “I can’t. _I can’t_.”


	2. Wanna Bet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four bets; the winners take all. The question though, is who's actually winning in the end.

“So, how long do you think until Jaha manages to piss Clarke off?” Octavia asked, reaching past Lincoln for the crackers but falling miserably short. She shot him a smile as he picked up the entire tray of hors d' oeuvres to set in her lap instead. “Thank you.” She said, pecking his cheek, gratefully. 

“Hey, I was mid-cheese!” Murphy protested. “Maybe this will work for me, too.” He batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly at Lincoln, who grimaced. “More flip, less flap.” 

“Well, shit, could’ve sworn it was more flap, less flip.” Murphy pouted, only to have his face turned to meet Emori’s lips in a kiss. “You’ve got plenty of flap for me, baby.” 

The room was punctuated with a mixture of cheers, semi-disgusted _awws_ and good-natured heckling for the next few minutes, leaving Murphy red-faced and Emori in a fit of giggles. 

When the teasing had subsided, Monty piped up. “Seriously though, I think Clarke’ll be fine. I mean, hasn’t she done, like hundreds of interviews at this point?”

“Yeah, but Jaha is notorious for picking apart people’s lives and prodding at them until they give in.” Miller stuffed two halves of a devilled egg into his mouth, catching Jackson’s raised eyebrow. “What? I’m _starving_.”

“That’s his job. Just like Clarke’s is to entertain. They both get the limits of the game.” Harper said with a shrug.

“The difference is, only one of them is on the defensive here.” Anya said, meeting eyes with Raven who had just walked in from the kitchen with a steaming plate of mini-quiches. “Okay, guess: how many of his ‘intimate’ questions are actually going to be from a Buzzfeed quiz?”

Grabbing at the bait for a change of subject, Raven pulled up her phone, scrolling through the first link that popped up. “Do you have friends and family on payroll? How much do you _actually_ work out? Oh man, these are so bad they’re actually exactly the kind of thing he’d ask.” 

“Do you split the bill with your non-celebrity friends?” Lincoln seemed to have found the same quiz. There was a unanimous _no_ from the group at that one; Clarke always somehow ended up tricking them all and quietly paying the bill the rare times she did manage to see her friends these days.

“Ooh, this one: have you ever called the paparazzi on yourself?” Emori asked, twirling a strand of her hair in calculated playfulness.

“Definitely not. Clarke’s not into that kind of shit. She fucking _hates_ the attention and the media; you know that.” Raven cut that one short; Anya glanced up at the sudden edge to her tone. “I need another drink.” Anya announced, getting up from her seat. “Anyone else?”

“I’ll make myself a cocktail.” Raven followed her to the kitchen. Once in there, she sighed, resting her hip against the counter, dropping her head down. “I don’t know how Clarke can keep this bottled up; it’s not even about me, and I’m stressing out over our _closest_ friends finding out.”

Anya popped open a beer, taking a swig. “I mean, that’s why she’s one of the top actors in the industry. This is just another role, right?” She paused, watching Raven measure out the liquor for her drink. “Does anyone else know Lexa is back in town yet? Or anything else that went down between them way back when?”

Raven shook her head. “No, to both.” She slammed the lid on the mixer, shaking it vigorously. “I’m worried about Clarke. She seems off kilter from when she saw Lexa at Mount Weather on Wednesday.”

“The grocery store? How? Since when does Clarke Griffin buy her own carefully curated meal ingredients?” Anya tried hard to focus on Raven’s face and not on her jiggling chest; she bit the inside of her cheek. Was it normal for a cocktail to be shaken for so long?

Raven quirked an eyebrow at her. “Since passable wigs became a thing.” She shook the mixer harder, appreciating the slow blush spreading across Anya’s face. “Anyway, they didn’t talk or anything, and I guess Lexa didn’t see her, or she sure as hell would have said something to you, right?” Anya nodded, waiting for Raven to continue. “Apparently, one minute Clarke’s shopping for that wheatgrass crap, and she turns a corner and bam! Lexa’s standing right there, talking to some real looker she was with. So Clarke does an about-face and bolts out of the store. She nearly forgot to pay for the damn wheatgrass. Shoplifting’s not exactly a great look for an undercover celebrity.” 

Anya echoed Raven’s chuckle. “It was probably Costia, Lexa’s campaign manager. They’ve been inseparable since the launch is coming up.” In response to Raven’s glance askance, she shrugged defensively. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t _think_ they’re involved, but Lexa never tells me anything anymore.” She pouted, lowering her eyes. “She’s got no time for me since she’s been back.”

Raven rolled her eyes; in spite of Anya’s histrionics, she knew she was proud of her best friend’s drive and was rooting for her the hardest. She grabbed Anya lightly by the arm, using the contact as an excuse to step closer, until they were inches apart, bringing her lips to Anya’s ear. “Wanna bet? They’ll be back together by the end of the week.”

Anya raised her eyebrows, turning her head slightly, alternating her gaze between Raven’s eyes and her lips. “No way; Clarke is too chicken to hurt her chances of an Oscar. Unless you plan to interfere?”

Raven shook her head slightly, not looking away. “I don’t need to do a thing, and neither do you. Clarke might surprise you; she’s not the same woman she was.” She inched even further into Anya’s space; their lips were practically touching now. “Are _you_ too chicken to bet?” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper.

Anya’s eyes glinted at that. “Challenge accepted. What happens when you lose?” 

Raven’s sly smile broke the tension between them. “You’ll finally get lucky enough to take me out on a real date.”

“And if I do?” 

“Then I’ll be the lucky one.” With a slow sway of her hips, Raven began walking back to the living room. Anya enjoyed the view for a few seconds, before calling after her. “You’re on.” As far as she was concerned, she didn’t mind losing that particular bet one bit; it would be a win-win for everyone involved, anyway.

********

“And so, here we are.” Thelonious Jaha paused dramatically, a half-smile painted across his mouth, a deliberately softened gaze resting on Clarke’s face. “Well, here _you_ are, Clarke.” 

She held it, unflinchingly. “Here I am.” She rolled her eyes minisculely, with the precise amount of practiced comedic flair and genuine self-deprecation thrown in. “And where is that, exactly?”

Jaha guffawed, throwing his head back, laughing out loud. Watching his shoulders shake for a few seconds too long, Clarke reached for her drink, using the opportunity to take a couple of giant gulps; the heady, bitter flavours were doing wonders for her. So far, she had succeeded in convincing Jaha the two top up breaks during filming were for her nerves; what he’d missed was that they were because he was steadily working his way up to her last one.

“Clever, Clarke. Very good.” He cleared his throat. “At the top of the world, so to speak. The industry’s leading showstopper and _show-earner_ , I might add, for the third year in a row.” He began reading off a litany of box office revenues for her last three action films from around the world in the repetitive tones of anchors; Clarke tried not to let her eyes glaze over, managing to muster up a half-smile just as Jaha finally looked up from his tablet. “And not to mention your third straight Academy Award nomination for….” He paused to look down at his notes.

“....Apocalyptic Apocalypse Apocalypsing.” Clarke finished for him without missing a beat. “Three.” She’d said the ridiculous title out loud in enough interviews now to actually be able to keep a straight face.

“Ah, yes. Triple A III.” Jaha picked back up jovially. “And they say the third time’s a charm.” He winked at her; Clarke only raised her eyebrows over the rim of her glass, trying not to gag. Why had she agreed to do this interview again? 

“You have it all, Clarke. The money, the fame….” She waited for him to stop waving his arms around, trying not to duck as they came too close to her face. “....And even the allure.” His smile turned wily. “So, what about your personal successes?”

“Well sometimes I remember to put on pants on Sundays.” Clarke deadpanned. Jaha looked taken aback, letting out a slightly nervous chuckle. Maybe she needed to tone the sarcasm down a bit; just as quickly she decided against it. “That’s a real crowning achievement of mine.”

“With a sense of humour like that, it’s a wonder you haven’t been snapped up yet, Clarke.” There it was; Jaha had managed to slip in the most annoying topic of all. “Unless there’s someone you’ve been keeping from us?”

Clarke’s nostrils flared slightly; it was the only momentary show of emotion she allowed herself. “I haven’t, actually. As usual, everyone knows exactly everything there is to know about my personal life.” 

Jaha’s eyes widened. “You mean, you and Finn Collins?” 

Clarke pursed her lips. “Come on, Thelonious, it’s my job to keep my secrets, and yours to find them out.”

Jaha stared at her for a second; she could practically see the cogs turning in his head. “Or is it someone else?” He ventured a challenge. “Someone _unconventional?_ ”

  
  


In the silence of Raven’s living room, Bellamy groaned out loud. “Here we fucking go again. Give her a break, man. Clarke’s _not_ gay. Enough with the shit-starting.”

“Who said anything about her being gay?” Jackson asked. “She could you know, just be fluid. Or bisexual. Or figuring stuff out. Who cares, anyway?”

“Or none of those things. Maybe she’s just a boring old heterosexual woman. I hear they still exist.” Bellamy sat up straighter, puffing his chest out.

“Bro, just because your unrequited boner for her won’t die doesn’t mean she can’t be anything but straight-up hetero.” Octavia grinned at him, while the others burst out laughing; Bellamy knew just as well that his sister was the only one who could get away with saying that. “Besides, all _you_ should care about is that she’s single.”

“Whatever. I’m standing my ground. I know Clarke; we grew up together. She’s as straight as a barge pole.” Bellamy crossed his arms, a childish pout taking over his face. “I’ll bet any of you she’s going to come out. As _straight_. By the time the Oscars roll around; she looks like she's had enough of this crap.”

“What are we playing for?” Raven asked, breaking the sudden awkwardness. “People change, Bellamy. Or they grow and learn. Call it what you want.”

“If I win, which I will, you give me the scoop on her ‘growth’, you know, the stuff she’s into these days, so I can get a real shot at asking her out when she’s back in town next month.”

“And in the off chance that you lose,” Anya smirked at him, “You watch those sensitivity training videos that Octavia and I have been sending you for months. There’s got to be like two hundred of them at this point.”

“Done. I’ll watch every single one.” Bellamy held up his beer, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Start thinking, Raven.”

“To the victor go the spoils.” Anya said simply, winking at Raven, who hid her smile in her shoulder. They turned back to the television in anticipation.

“Unconventional?” Clarke raised her eyebrows. “What are you actually trying to say Thelonious?” Behind Jaha’s head, she could see Niylah, her publicist, shaking her head slowly. _Don’t take the bait, Clarke._

“Well, ah, you know, in this day and age, rumours _fly_.” Jaha stuttered, clearly not expecting to be questioned on his own query. “But all that to say, it must get lonely at the top.”

But Clarke was having none of it; emboldened by the alcohol and something else she wasn’t quite ready to admit yet, she tilted her head sideways, as if mocking Jaha. “You can’t back down _now_. We’re only just getting to the _fun_ part.” Jaha actually loosened his tie at that; even in the frigid room, Clarke could see a thin line of sweat on his brow. “How about we bet on it? If you can tell the status of my private, and I mean _dating_ life, by the day before the Academy Awards, I’ll make a $500,000 donation to a charity of your choice.” In the corner, she could see Niylah running a finger across her throat, her eyes wide with horror. _Cut it out. Stop._ Clarke ignored her, looking back at Jaha. “I’ll make it easy for you. You don’t even need empirical proof.” She tipped her head forward slightly, egging him on. “Just an educated guess; a gentlepeople's understanding.” She held out her hand. “And if I win, you never pressure someone into talking about their personal lives again. Deal?”

Niylah put her head in her hands; Clarke had to fight from bursting out into laughter. She could see the tabloid headlines as clear as day, and the fit Niylah would be having as soon as the cameras stopped rolling. But, Jaha seemed to have come back to life. He leaned forward, sealing the deal with a handshake. His own was clammy and cold as ice. “Bold move, Clarke. But we’ve come to expect nothing less from you. Here’s to a friendly bet between gentlefolk.” He turned to the camera, flashing a dazzling smile at the lens. “You saw it here first, folks. Maybe you’ll hear about it here first, too!”

*******

“Whoa. Did that just happen? Did you see that?” Costia turned around on the couch to the figure sitting at the sombre wooden desk behind her.

Lexa looked up from the speech she was working on; she had heard that loud and clear, and frankly, was having a hard time believing it. “It’s a publicity stunt, Costia. Clarke just wants to make a splash before the Oscars.” 

Costia was unfazed. “Maybe; but maybe not. I’ve heard she plays for both teams anyway.”

“Not that it’s any of your business. Or anyone else’s.”

“Right. Of course. But it’s _fun_ to speculate.” Standing up, Costia walked to the room’s tiny bar fridge. “Hey, don’t you know her?”

Lexa busied herself with shuffling the papers at her desk, instead of looking up. “We have common friends. My best friend moved to the town she grew up in, not far from here. We’ve had drinks with friends a couple of times, before she got really famous.”

Costia eyed her for a moment. “Pity. You’d be just her type. Celebrities do well with strong, grounded folks.” 

“Is that code for boring?”

Costia laughed. “You said that, not me.” Setting aside the water bottle, she checked her hair in the mirror. “Wanna bet? I say Clarke Griffin’s going to confirm those bisexuality rumours the minute she wins an Oscar. Which is totally happening this year, by the way.”

Lexa looked up, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Could it be that Clarke had finally worked up the courage to face herself? She paused. Maybe she’d found someone, someone who’d stood patiently by her side, in the shadows, while she took her career where she wanted it to be. Someone who was _not_ Lexa. It was the sharp pang of hurt welling up inside that helped make her decision. “What are we playing for?”

Costia wiggled her eyebrows. “You let me take you out to dinner?”

A slight frown creased Lexa’s forehead. “Costia….”

“Fine, fine, I know you don’t do dates.” Costia held up open palms, speaking a little too quickly. “Coffee? Like you buy my morning coffee for three months if you lose. And vice versa.” She raised her right hand. “I solemnly swear none of the above shall qualify as dates.” 

Lexa relaxed a little; this was simple enough, and something to distract her. Besides, there was no way in hell Clarke would put herself and her career on the line, for _anyone_. She knew that to be true firsthand from having her heart crushed by Clarke Griffin. It was something she had never gotten over, and deep down, Lexa knew with unequivocal certainty that she never, ever would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Buzzfeed quiz is [here](https://www.buzzfeed.com/josieayre1/questions-id-love-to-ask-celebrities-and-actua).
> 
> Thanks for all your comments and kudos, folks. I'm loving them all!


End file.
